


Hoist The Colours

by SpecialAgentFiction



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: East India Trading Company, F/M, One Shot, Original Character(s), Pre-CotBP, Pre-Curse of the Black Pearl, Prequel, The Black Pearl - Freeform, The Wicked Wench
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 13:45:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11922153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpecialAgentFiction/pseuds/SpecialAgentFiction
Summary: "We've each left our marks on each other."Their histories were rooted in each other; one an honest man turned pirate in the name of freedom, and the other an ambitious climber willing to do whatever it takes to rise above the rest.But a ship full of slaves is only the start of Cutler Beckett and Jack Sparrow's association, it's the following chase and capture and branding that cements them in each other's lives.But Jack is no fool, he would never willingly put himself back in the hands of someone with an axe to grind, unless of course it's in the name of something he cherished more than freedom itself: Love.ORThe plan had been to sail the Caribbean together until they the deck of their beloved Wicked Wench splintered beneath their feet from old age. But the Wench had splintered early and now Jack was out for blood; he'd summon the Pirate Lords himself if it meant getting Her out of Beckett's clutches and back at his side, where she belonged.One-Shot Prequel to COTBP - Jack/OFC





	Hoist The Colours

**Author's Note:**

> This was just an idea I had an have been working on in my spare time for the past couple of moths. Original lyrics to 'Hoist the Colours' are not mine but the couple of changes most definitely are.  
> I hope you all enjoy it; comments would be much appreciated (I love hearing from you all).

* * *

  _The King and his men stole the Queen from her bed,_  
_And bound her in her bones._  
_The seas be ours and by the powers,_  
_Where we will, we'll roam._

_Yo, Ho, haul together, hoist the colours high,  
Heave ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die._

_Now some have died and some are alive,_  
_And others sail on sea._  
_With the keys to the cage, and a Queen to save,_  
_We lay to Fiddler's Green._

_Yo, Ho, haul together, hoist the colours high,  
Heave ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die._

_The pearl has been raised, from its watery grave_  
_Its Captain searches the seas._  
_A call to all; pay heed the squall,_  
_Let it blow you home._

_Yo, Ho, haul together, hoist the colours high,  
Heave ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die._

_The King and his men, stole the Queen from her bed,_  
_And bound her in her bones._  
_The seas rose up to take her back,_  
_And sat her on her throne._

* * *

The rope was burning the once soft palm of her hand as she used it to lean over the side of the ship she was currently stood on. The water was awash with debris from the decks of both ships as cannons blazed back and forth between them with men on both sides running to-and-fro securing cargo and reloading cannons.

This conflict had been on the cards for days and it had only been a matter of time until the ship that had stayed largely on the horizon came into full view and started firing on them.

There was little chance they’d all walk away from this but she didn’t care; her only concern was for the row-boat that had departed from them yesterday and whether or not it had reached safety.

“They’re blowing us to smithereens, Captain!” She turned from the enemy ship to glance down to her first mate and the terror in his eyes. “What do we do?!”

“Give ‘em everything we’ve got!” She called down to him, her hair whipping about behind her as another blow rocked them all. “Jones!” She shouted for the man again as he turned to scurry away. “Our masts are looking a little bare up there.” She nodded upwards. “Let’s make sure they remember who holds this ship.”

He flashed her a grin before turning and striding to the front of the helmsman’s station and bellowing down to the crew.

“Hoist the colours!”

The black flag inching its way up towards the azure sky above them was one of the most glorious sights she’d ever seen and clearly her opposing Captain agreed judging by the increased curses resonating over to her.

The cannons were giving them all they had and she’d never been more proud of her crew; they were all going to die here and they knew it but not one had abandoned ship. This was a cause they would all fight for; the East India Trading Company be dammed.

She winced as a particularly nasty hole was suddenly blown into the side of them and wondered how much longer they were going to be able to hold out until water began pouring in and dragging them down.

 _Just a little longer._ She urged the wood beneath her feet. _C’mon girl; just long enough for him to get away._

The ship seemed to respond to her as a cacophony of cannon fire rang out and the opposite ship almost toppled. They recovered quick enough through and the sight that greeted her was enough to make her want to vomit over the side.

“Ready the wat-” The order died on her tongue as a single flaming arrow soared across the small gap of water and embedded into their main sail; its tip dragging all the way through, spreading the fire until it hit the deck with a clunk.

The flames were everywhere in a mere heartbeat.

The sails were being ravaged and fire slithered down the rigging as it spread across the ship. The deck was now bursting apart with screams and the scent of burning flesh reaching her.

The arrow had done its job and the distraction it had caused was enough for a few well-placed shots to breach them completely. They were lurching and there was little she could do to stop it.

The rope slipped from her fingers as another shot sent the ship shuddering and then she was falling, falling from her ledge and into the waters below; limbs splayed as her beloved ship was gradually being consumed with fire.

She hit the water with a back-cracking thud and her last sight was of a ship turning to spill its contents on the other side of the ocean. Everything was too warm as she sank further into the depths of the sea she had never believed would betray her in this way. Her eyes flickered closed as the underwater pressure consumed her.

And with that, the Wicked Wench was lost.

* * *

Memories of hands wrapping roughly around the tops of her arms and dragging her from the depths she had sunk to, were fuzzy. But, as her eyes fought against the crusted flecks of salt coating her face, she knew they had to have happened.

The cell she’d been slung into was dismal to say the least. A single lantern hung opposite her bars and cast only a mere shadow of light into the square room, though no light would have surely been preferable as when her eyes finally snapped fully open, all that surrounded her was a dusting of straw acting as a carpet and a threadbare mattress which she promptly recoiled from once she realised that it wasn’t a shadow under her cheek, but a stain.

The salt had dried on her skin and was now tearing her apart with every move as she scrambled from the scrap of fabric and curled into herself on the opposite wall. Her hair continued to drip down her back, further soaking the flimsy white shirt that had been so good at keeping her cool in the baking heat on deck but was now chilling her to her bones thanks to the sliver of wind smoking its way through the cracks in the walls.

She let her eyes flicker back closed as a whirlwind of memories bombarded her all at once. She could still smell the plumes of smoke rising up from the alight sails of her beloved Wicked Wench. Another shiver rolled down her spine as she realised that she was likely the only survivor.

Head bowed in prayer, she whispered a thanks to all the men now at the bottom of the ocean for their sacrifice before whispering a plea for the safety of their departed leader – god, she hoped he’d made it.

She let a small sniffle escape her before resting her head back against the wall and letting her eyes flicker closed in a desperate attempt to escape this dreary cell and her likely execution if only through her dreams.

* * *

_They say that Shipwreck Island is one of those places that’s very hard to find, unless you know exactly where it is. With no fixed plot on any map, the secret isle was a guaranteed safe-haven for all who sailed under a jolly-roger._

_But, to those who were more than mere residents on the island; those who knew the twists and turns of the Devil’s Throat and the wonder that the long-dead volcano at the heart of the island held, it was the epicentre of piracy itself._

_“Takes my breath away every time.”_

_She hummed her agreement; eyes fixed on the magnificence at the centre of the secret cove high above sea level. The wrecked hulls of long retired ships was a glowing, living mass as they sailed through the mouth of the Devil’s Throat and towards the ships docking at the hidden city._

_“C’mon love.” Jack nudged her as she once again lost herself in the beauty before them. “Thought you’d be more excited to come home.”_

_A slow smile stretched across her lips as his words: home. While many called the island itself home, only a handful could lay claim to the cove._

_“I am.” She assured him. “But I’m far more concerned about what my father will say when he sees us sailing in together.”_

_“He doesn’t scare me.” He promised, a hand sneaking around her back to pull her closer._

_“He should.” She whispered, laughter dancing in her eyes as her hands slid up his chest to rest either side of his neck. “Because **he’ll** definitely take your breath away.” Thumbs either side of his Adam’s Apple as she splayed her hands around his throat, she emphasised her point with a light squeeze. _

_“I’d like to see him try.” He pried her hands away with his spare and gave her a dashing grin. “After all…” He let his hand drag up and down the soft cotton sleeve of her shirt. “…you can’t steal what is already stolen every time I look at you.”_

_“That’s a sickening sentiment.” She told him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before stepping out of his arms and turning back to the fast approaching city._

_“You know, you’re just like an oyster.”_

_“Cold, hard and grey?” She snorted. “How charming, Sparrow.”_

_“You hide yourself under this shell; afraid to show vulnerability.” He said, waving a hand at her as she wrapped her arms around herself and refused to meet his eye. “Because inside…” He leant closer, his breath tingling as it blew across the column of her throat. “…there’s a shiny pearl needing protection.”_

_“I assure you, Jack…” She turned her head slightly to meet his eye. “…if there is a pearl hiding under all of this…” She leant in and whispered. “…it’s most definitely a black one.”_

_“That it is my sweet.” He agreed, pride clear in his voice. “And I am proud to have played a part in its sullying.” His hand curled at her hip again as they stood side by side on the bow of the Wicked Wench._

_“I think simply growing up here played a bigger part than you did, Sparrow.”_

_“Ay, but there’s one thing I can do that the cove can’t.”_

_“Which is?”_

_“Piss off your father.”_

_He gave her no time to reply as his hands turned her fully towards him and pulled her into a searing kiss just as their anchor dropped and the ship docked with her waiting father scowling on the makeshift dock._

_“He’s going to kill you.” She whispered against his lips before breaking into a laugh as he did further damage to his tumultuous relationship with Captain Harrier by dropping her into a dip and stealing another kiss._

* * *

There were hands on her again; shaking her awake as she was hoisted from the damp floor and forced to kneel with her arms outstretched. Her indignant cried were ignored as red-coats blocked her view and a pair of manacles were clamped around her wrists. It was only when they were fully secure was she hauled up to her feet and forced from the cell.

“Where are we going?” She ground out as she was pushed forward through the dungeon of cells and around corner after corner. “I said: where are we going?” She growled at the British soldiers; their stoic faces doing their King proud as they led her up through the layers of the dungeons. “Are you all deaf?”

“The Director wants to see you.”

“Director?” She asked, swallowing a curse as she was nudged up a set of stone stairs and almost tumbled into the pair of red-coats at her front. “Such a strange way to source actors for a play; destroying ships and drowning a crew.”

“Not that type of director.” A red-coat at her back drawled.

“Pity.” She sighed as they reached the entrance to the dungeon and she was thrust into daylight and forced to cross the stone courtyard of the fort. “I do a magnificent Juliet.”

She fell silent as they re-entered the fort and moved through its labyrinth of corridors until they reached a set of particularly opulent doors.

The red-coats in front separated to open the doors and with a quick nudge from behind, she entered the room.

“Apparently you put up quite the fight.”

Her eyes snapped from the tables of trinkets that filled the room and settled on a figure stood behind a hulking desk; arms folded behind his back as he stared out to the ocean. She felt her stomach roll at the voice of the man she had being doing her utmost to out-sail since his arrival in the Bahamas.

“I can’t take all the credit.” She replied, swallowing any nerves and letting her manacles clang as she stepped further into the room, eyeing a few items that would no doubt bring a small fortune when sold on. “My crew were magnificent.”

“And yet, not magnificent enough to save their lives.”

“Maybe if they’d been given a fair chance…”  The man laughed. “A flaming arrow was cheating and we both know it.”

“But it did its job and now the Wicked Wench is little more than a pile of ashes floating on the waves.”

“You always have been the type to carry a grudge, Beckett.” He turned to fully face her at the sound of his name; the endless blue behind him framing his opulent clothes. “Pity you couldn’t reach us in time to claim your actual target.”

“Yes, my men did report that Jack wasn’t among the crew; congratulations on the promotion, _Captain_ Harrier.” She offered a mock curtsey at his words. “Tell me where he is and I promise your execution will be quick.”

“I’ll take slow and painful, thanks; at least it’ll be memorable.”

“Where is Jack Sparrow?”  She shrugged and turned to the map covering an entire wall of the office; squinting at the small flags adorning it. “Where is he?” Beckett asked again, slamming his hands onto the surface of the desk as she shrugged again. “I will have you flogged.”

“I don’t care.”

He let out a low growl at her indifference and she watched from the corner of her eyes as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

“Then I will steal you from your bed every night and bombard you with questions until you crumple from exhaustion.”

“Wasn’t sinking the Wench enough?” She spat. “Wasn’t killing all those men enough for you?”

“Jack Sparrow is a thief; he deserves to be punished.”

“They. Were. People.” She ground out; rage filling her as memories of finding men, women and children chained up below the deck of Jack’s beloved ship. “If anyone deserves to be punished it’s you. All we did was set them free.”

“Jack Sparrow stole from me; my cargo, my ship and my good name.” Beckett rounded the desk to stand in front of her; eye to eye. “And so, I intend to steal from him.”

“You already sank-”

“He calls you his Queen, does he not?” Her spine stiffened and her chin lifted as he smirked at her. “News will reach him wherever he is, and I will take pleasure in knowing that I have stolen his most treasured possession…you.”

* * *

She couldn’t breathe. Every intake of air she took was met with a steel trap preventing it from reaching her lungs.

“Just a little tighter, Miss, and you’ll be perfect.”

She let out a whimper at the words and dug her nails deeper into the chair back she was holding onto for dear life as two women wrestled her into the most restricting corset Beckett had presented to her.

“How does that feel, Miss?”

She straightened, or at least tried to, and ran her hands down the sides of her boned figure. She sneered at the sight of her impossibly small waist in the floor length mirror; it was sick that this torture device was considered not only fashionable but a necessity for every woman in ‘civilised society’. Give her breeches and one of Jack’s old shirts any day.

“You’ll look just like a princess with that waist.”

All she could do was nod to the women as they scuttled off to collect the next layer of her outfit.

She’d been Cutler Beckett’s prisoner for almost a fortnight now and ever since their reunion in his office overlooking the bay of Nassau, everyday had been the same; wake, have lungs restricted in the latest boned cage, try and figure out how to move in a horrendously petticoated dress and then try ignore the two guards constantly at her back as Beckett paraded her around as his newest trophy.

_“The East India Trading Company will revolutionise the Caribbean and with a known pirate, who has sought my forgiveness for her wrongdoings and pleaded for a second chance, at my side; there’ll be no stopping me.”_

News had to have reached Jack by now, wherever he was, and she just hoped to God that he would stay away from here and get back to the cove where he can lay low for a while. But she knew better, and Beckett knew better so with every shift of the wind she begged whatever cruel God that watched over them to detain Jack for as long as possible.

“Director Beckett had this made specifically for you, Miss.” Eyes fixed on the horizon she hadn’t even noticed the women return. “You’ll be the talk of the Caribbean in this.”

The layers of frills and unnecessary skirts were on her in an instant with the dress’ three-quarter length sleeves encasing her arms in silks dotted with pearls. The women kept ‘ohhing’ and ‘ahhing’ as each new design element was revealed to them but she couldn’t focus on any of it, couldn’t give her usual nod of agreement because her prayers had not been answered; for breaking the horizon was ship with no naval marking on it and a figure practically hanging from the main mast as it stood high above the decks among the sails.

She didn’t know the ship; didn’t recognise the dark wood or the dyed sails, but she knew that figure; knew the pose and the steely determination that would be in his eyes as they settled on the white mansion high above the bustling port town.

“I hope I’ll look as pretty as you when my time comes, Miss.”

“Hmm.” She couldn’t take her eyes off him; her heart was thumping uncontrollably as her corset continued to constrict her and fear gripped every bone in her body. She wanted to knock him off that mast and force the ship around – he couldn’t be here; Beckett would kill him.

“You’re so lucky, Miss, to have man such as Director Beckett.”

Another hum of agreement left her at the words.

“You make such a beautiful bride.”

That one caught her attention and her eyes snapped from the incoming ship to the woman stood before her.

“What did you say?”

“You make such a beautiful bride.” She repeated, a light smile on her lips as she straightened the lace cuffs of her sleeves.

“Bride.” She repeated. “I’m no…” She trailed off as the woman stepped aside and left her staring at her reflection in the floor length mirror. “…bride.”

She was resplendent in ivory; the silk flowed over the copious amounts of skirts like water running down a sail and her bodice was a tapestry of pearls coming together to make intricate shapes and patterns. There was lace trimming her sleeves and the line of her bust and her hair had been coiled into an elaborate bun with curls falling everywhere to emphasise the undisturbed fall of the sheer veil cascading down her back.

“I…I…”

“Don’t you like it?” They asked. “I don’t know how you couldn’t; I’ve never seen such a beautiful wedding dress.”

“Wedding dress.” She repeated; her mouth dry, breaths shallow and mind spinning.

“Mrs Olivia Beckett; doesn’t that sound splendid?”

* * *

They’d had to drag her from the house. She’d refused to move from the room once her mind had caught up with Beckett’s plan. The maids had been confused at her refusal and then her shouts and kicks as two red-coats barged into her room, clasped her by the arms and hauled her down the staircase.

She was still protesting now; her arms fighting the hold of the man who’d been forced in beside her to stop her from trying to make a break for it, even as her carriage rolled through the streets.

She felt sick; everything was churning and it was only getting worse as the noise of the streets increased as everyone tried to get a peek at the bride of the benevolent Director of West African Imports and Exports for the East India Trading Company.

“Let me go.” She tried again, wrenching her sideways. But his hold remained strong despite her maids warning to treat her gently lest they ruin the dress. “Please.” She whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t want this.”

“And His Majesty doesn’t want pirates roaming the seas.” The guard snapped. “Anyone else would have been hung but you’ve been saved.” He reminded her. “This…” He sneered at the dress and the cheering citizens. “…is far more than you deserve, pirate.”

She fell silent at that. it was true; she’d been spared the gallows but this was as much of a death sentence. To be cut off from the sea, from Jack, was like cutting out her heart. She belonged on the deck of a creaking ship with one hand on the wheel and the other keeping the sun from her eyes; it was in her blood and in her soul and Cutler Beckett knew that keeping her here with the sea so close but so far away, was better torture than any.

“The seas are ours.” The guard said as the port’s church came into view. “And this is a reminder to anyone who sails under that dammed flag that no matter where they go; we’ll find them.”

* * *

 Apparently, the church was full; there wasn’t a single empty spot in the rows of pews as men and their wives had flooded in from all over the Caribbean to attend the wedding with some of Beckett’s former Calabar colleagues having made the crossing too.

It made her feel sicker. How hadn’t she realised this was his plan? How hadn’t she heard anything about a wedding? With people travelling from so far, this had to have been planned well in advance and yet it had still been a heart-stopping shock to her.

“Get out.”

She threw the guard a glare before taking the outstretched hand of the soldier stood outside the carriage and allowed him to help her down. The crowd broke into cheers at the sight of her; glistening in the mid-morning sun with her veil dancing behind her on the ocean breeze rolling in from the port.

“Move.” The order was low as she was once again taken by the arm and led inside, the man careful to not show the people that she was being dragged here against her will.

The church’s antechamber was cold as she was forced to face the sealed double doors that when opened would reveal a packed room and an empty aisle.

“Shouldn’t my father be the one doing this?” She asked, glancing to the man who had appeared from nowhere to take her arm. “We can contact him and postpone this until he arrives – it would be the proper thing to do.”

“I doubt your father would be displeased with your stand in.” He said, eyes twinkling slightly as he dropped her arm and held out a hand. “Governor Weatherby Swann.” He introduced himself.

“Olivia Harrier.” She said, accepting his hand and letting him place a kiss to the back of it.

“My dear…” He began as he re-took their position. “…we all know who you are.” He laughed softly. “I was delighted to receive your invitation; I’m on my way home to England after visiting Port Royal ahead of my public appointment and a quick respite here is much appreciated before I continue on to collect my daughter Elizabeth.”

She forced a smile onto her face as she realised that he didn’t know this wasn’t what she wanted; that no one likely knew that Beckett was forcing her into this as his prisoner.

“She does love a wedding and is most put out to be missing one so high profile as this; a reformed pirate and an East India Trading Company Director? Well, it’s the talk of England let alone the Caribbean, or so her letters tell me.” He continued.

“I’m glad you could make it, Governor.” She murmured as music began to play from inside the church. “But you see, this isn’t-”

She was silenced as the double doors swung open and the congregation turned to watch them. Governor Swann gave a gentle tug on her arm and then her feet were moving of their own accord; taking her further into the building and away from the open doors through which the civilians would watch.

She reached the end of the aisle far too soon and with a fatherly pat on the shoulder from Governor Swann she was forced to turn to the priest and try and ignore the smug smile on Beckett’s lips.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony; which is an honourable estate, instituted of God in the time of man's innocency, signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his Church…”

She tuned out after that; not willing to pay attention to the endless rules of marriage that he was setting out before them. She couldn’t believe this was happening; it had to be a nightmare…or was this hell? Had she drowned that day on the Wench and this was her hell? Her eternal punishment for turning her back on God was Beckett. Yes, that sounded about right.

She was forced back into attention as Beckett took her hands and turned her to him.

“Wilt thou, Cutler Beckett, have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

“I will.”

“And wilt thou, Olivia Harrier, have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

She couldn’t speak. She had completely lost the ability to speak.

The church was silent as they waited for her answer but she couldn’t do it; she couldn’t pledge her life to this man under duress. She opened her mouth to turn to the priest and tell him everything; that yes, she was a pirate, but he was forcing her into this against her will and without permission and she didn’t love him! She loved the man with kohl around his eyes and gold in his teeth.

“She will.”

Her head snapped back to Beckett as he stared at her, the priest nodding solemnly and explaining to the congregation that she was simply nervous. They tittered in reply and the Bible was lowered to reveal a single gold band sat upon its pages.

“I, Cutler Beckett, take thee Olivia Harrier to be my wedded wife; to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.” He recited reaching out for the band as her left hand was left suspended in the air. “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.” He slid the band onto her finger and smirked. “Amen.”

The hearty applause of the congregation was cut through by cries of shock emanating into the church from outside. Everyone turned, even her, as the commotion grew closer.

“What is-”

“I object.” The two words reached them clearly even though their speaker was stood far away at the entrance to the church. “We are at the objecting part, aren’t we?”

She couldn’t help it; she laughed. She laughed hard with her head thrown back and relief filling her body.

“I missed it didn’t I?” The man asked, sauntering into the main chamber and leaning against a pew. “She’s always telling me I need to work on my timing.” He said, nodding to Olivia. “I’m always the last to…arrive.”

Her laugh intensified as the woman he’d been directing his words too blushed a scandalised red.

“How did you get out?” Beckett asked, her laughter dying in her throat at his tone and the tightened hold on her hands.

“Really got to work on your security, mate.” Jack said, pushing from the pew and making his way down the aisle. “With everyone making sure she didn’t do a runner…” He flashed her a grin. “…no one was keeping an eye on poor old Jack.”

“Get him.” Beckett’s order was low as he glared at Jack, the pirate having come to a stop at the very end of the aisle with her outstretched arms still in Beckett’s tight hold being his only barrier. “Guards…” He called out again, Jack’s eyebrow arching as no one came rushing in. “GUARDS!”

“Amazing what a quick tap on the back of the head can do.” Jack mused, picking at his fingernails boredly. “Not seeing the butt of a pistol coming? Doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence in His Majesty’s men.” He sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He reached out and pried Beckett’s fingers from her own, sliding the gold band from its place on her left hand and dropping it back onto the priest’s open Bible. “…I really must get on with this rescue; timing is everything you see.”

She needed no encouragement to take his hand and let him lead her from the church, the congregation and her groom too stunned to move.

“Jack.” His name was a whisper on her lips as they stepped out into the sunshine. “How-”

“No time for explaining, love.” He told her, nodding to the unconscious guards dotted around the place. “We’re not out of the woods yet.” He made to pull her forward, through the gaping crowd but she stopped him.

“Thank you.” She breathed, her free hand pulling him close by his shirt to press their lips together.

“Anytime, love.” He mumbled against her lips before letting out a groan at the sight over her shoulder.

“Not so fast, pirates.” She echoed Jack’s groan as Beckett’s voice neared them; the man clearly having found his courage as he watched them lock lips from his spot at the altar. 

The still assembled crowd of civilians gasped at the sight of the pistol clutched in his hand and its barrel wavering between the pair. They must be sight, she mused. Her, in all her finery clutching to Jack; an undeniable pirate with his red bandanna tied around his forehead and a belt full of weapons at his waist.

“I was willing to overlook your criminal past, Miss Harrier.” Beckett continued as he too stepped out into the sunshine, the congregation all twisted in their seats with necks craning to get a view of what would no doubt be the most talked about wedding for years to come. “I was willing to raise you above your station and into a symbol of the East India Trading Company’s generosity.” The pistol steadied and focused directly on her. “I see now that you deserved none of it; that you are and always will be a **pirate**.”

“I wouldn’t do that, mate.” The tip of a sword was at Beckett’s throat immediately as the Director’s thumb pulled back his pistol’s hammer.

“You’re right.” She released her hold on Jack’s shirt and stepped out of the comfort his arm around her waist promised. “I am a pirate.” She told Beckett. “Always have been, always will be.”

She stepped forward and with a quick tug on the pistol’s barrel pulled it from his hold, leaving him completely vulnerable to the steel at the column of his throat. Her finger was quick on the trigger and the cries and shouts from the crowd as the gun went off, shooting upwards into the open air, filled the quiet space as she turned to address the gathered people both within and outside of the church.

“So, let this be the day you all remember as the day you **almost** caught Captain Jack Sparrow…” the sword retracted from Beckett’s neck with a small nip at the underside of his jaw. “…and Olivia Harrier.” She dropped into another mock curtsey, the pistol between her fingers a stark contrast to the ivory of her gown.

Their hands intertwined instantly as she rose and then they were off, barrelling through the streets of Nassau and down towards the port.

When Cutler Beckett eventually stopped staring at the smudge of red coating is fingers as he pulled them from the thin line under his chin he would no doubt release a particularly wonderful strain of curses and all but kick awake his fallen men.

Olivia grinned at the thought.

And when they regained enough consciousness to follow after the fleeing pirates, they’d find nothing but a pile of sheer material that had once been a veil laying in a puddle of mud halfway to the ocean that she’d victoriously ripped from her hair as they ran and let fall behind her.

Obey and serve? Not likely.

* * *

“You’re late.”

They came to a skidding stop at the docks of Nassau. Jack was barely out of breath as he greeted the frowning man waiting for them at the wooden planks raised slightly above the water level but she was gasping for air, one hand clutching at her corseted waist; fingers poking around for some sort of relief from the cage, as her eyes landed on the older man pointing to a hastily tied up row boat nearby.

“Who are you?”

The man’s gruff demeanour changed as his eyes landed on her; hair slightly matted from the ripping out of her veil but otherwise still picture perfect in her wedding dress.

“Joshamee Gibbs, at your service.” He lifted the worn top-hat from his head and fell into a slight bow.

“A pleasure.” She replied, her smile strained as her eyes lingered on his clothes, specifically the insignia of His Majesty’s Royal Navy partially hidden under his heavy coat. She turned to Jack. “You trust him?”

“Gibbs saved my neck before.” He told her as the man straightened, his posture one of pride as Jack spoke. “Years ago; on a voyage with Teague.” She nodded but eyed the man carefully. “And he’s the best rum smuggler in the Caribbean.”

“Well in that case…” She held out her hand to him. “Olivia Harrier.” He shook it once, a smile on his lips. “Now, please tell me your plan doesn’t include me getting into that…” She nodded to the row boat. “…in this.” She gestured to her dress and watched their smiles fade. “I’ll be little more than a beacon for them to shoot at!”

“Not to worry.” Gibbs assured her as Jack moved to untie the boat. “You’ll be fine; once you get to the Pearl, no ship will catch up.” He slid his coat from his body and wrapped it around her; the dark material hiding just enough of her.

“The Pearl?” She asked, letting him push her towards the row boat. “Where did you get another ship from?”

“Long story.” Jack said, hand outstretched to help her down. “Gibbs…” He turned to the man once she was seated; the coat gripped around her. “…take what you can.”

“Give nothing back.” The man concluded, hand raised in salute as Jack pushed off from the dock.

“I like him.” Olivia noted, watching as he took off from the docks to no doubt relay misleading information to whoever came looking for them. “He seems a good man…for a pirate.”

* * *

 They were cutting through the waves of Nassau with ease as Jack’s arms pushed and pulled at the oars in a well-practised rhythm honed from years on the ocean.

“What ship is this?” She asked, neck craned as the small row-boat turned and revealed the side of a magnificent ebony hull. “I’ve never seen one like it.”

“It’s more familiar than you’d think.” He told her, grinning at her confused frown as he gave a final pull of the oars and lined them up alongside the ship.

She let her hand skim the surface of the worn wood, the grain seeing strangely familiar to her as a rope ladder unfurled from the deck to reach them. Her hands gripped the coarse rope and she let a smile bloom on her painted lips at the familiar feeling of a ship beneath her palms. She pulled herself upwards with ease letting the hands of the waiting crew pull her up and onto the deck as she craned her neck to take in the array of the tied-up sails blowing in the slight breeze.

“Welcome aboard, Miss Harrier.”

“Thank you.” She brushed at the material of her dress, legs reacclimatising to the gentle rock of the ship as she glanced around crew. “Whose ship is this?” She asked again, hearing Jack’s boots land on the deck behind her.

“Mine.”

“Yours?” She turned to him, a crease between her brows.

“Well…” He took her hand and led her across the deck, the crew parting to let them through before scuttling off to their positions and jobs. “…ours.” He led her up, onto the helm and placed her hands on the ornate wheel. “Feel familiar?”

“The Wench.” She breathed, the grooves in the wood too familiar to be anything but those of her beloved ship. “But she was lost; burned to a crisp.”

“And now she’s here; returned to us.”

“Gibbs called her ‘The Pearl’.” She reminded him.

“Aye, felt she needed a re-name, what, with all the bad blood.” He stroked the wheel, his hand covering hers as he stood behind her. “And so I welcome you, Olivia Harrier, aboard the Black Pearl.”

The ship sprang to life instantly; the jet black sails unfurled and caught the breeze perfectly, letting it push them outwards as the sound of an anchor retracting filled the air. The move from stationary to sailing was seamless, not even a judder rocked the deck as the anchor fully retracted and they began to drift from the cove that had hidden them from the whole of Nassau.

“Now…” Jack breathed, his voice filling the shell of her ear as their fingers intertwined atop the wheel. “Show me that horizon.”


End file.
